


till we're stripped down to our skeletons again

by Analyse (D_Willims)



Category: Jessica Jones (TV), Luke Cage (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (Luke Doesn't Know About That), Also A Fix-It Of Sorts, Also PSA That Everyone Loves Misty Knight, And Then Didn't, But Adds The Fact That Jess Said She'd Call At The End Of Defenders, But Also Takes Place Firmly in JJS2 and pre-LCS2, Even When Her Abusive Serial Killer Mom Was Destroying Her Life, Gen, I Don't Write The Rules, It Doesn't Change Canon, Luke/Claire Is Mentioned, Maybe Hope For It Later?, Mentions of Past Jess/Luke, So They Have Other Love Interests, The First Baby Step On A Long Journey To Being Not Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 20:20:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19184878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_Willims/pseuds/Analyse
Summary: There's a shark in her bathtub and a monster in her bed, so Jessica makes a phone call.





	till we're stripped down to our skeletons again

**Author's Note:**

> Fic Title comes from "Twin Skeleton's (Hotel in NYC)" by Fall Out Boy.

Jessica leans back against the wall. Careful, because Pryce’s bullet is still in her shoulder. _It’s just a graze_ , she tells herself firmly. Because if it’s real, if the bastard really did shoot her, she’s not okay. And she can’t be _not okay_ with Alisa already on every single figurative edge.

So she leans back against the wall. Trusts the duct tape to keep her from bleeding out and the booze to numb the pain. Leans back under the hole where Simpson had put her through the wall. Jesus, had that already been two years ago? Her ribs still ache like it was yesterday. Another phantom pain from another asshole to add to her growing collection.

Her head lolls backwards and she stares up at the hole in the wall. Malcolm’s done a good job with fixing it, she thinks. A good coat of paint and it’ll look like it’s always been there. A passthrough into the inexplicable tiny maze of hallways and doors. She groans, looks forward again.

A shark in the bathtub and a monster in the bed. And behind the secret door number three, her best friend, her other half is circling the drain. Addicts are always addicts. _Jessica Jones, step right up to pick your poison_.

She’s really fucked everything up this time.

The phone is heavy in her hands, screen against her palm. She flips it over. Upside down. Jessica spins it around, lets her fingers drift over the smooth screen protector. Nothing happens. Start over. Breathe, remember to _breathe_. Birch Street. Higgins Drive. Cobalt Lane. Fuck, fuck, taking a flying fuck. Her index finger presses to the home button. The phones lights up, unlocked. Before she even realizes what she’s doing, she’s scrolling through her contacts.

He picks up on the third ring.

“Jones?” It’s late and his voice is quiet, heavy with sleep. But it’s sill silky soft, like cigarette smoke rising in the night air. Even now, two years and some odd change later, the low rumbling tones turn her knees to jelly. Addicts are always addicts. “Something up?”

Jessica inhales too sharply and exhales shakily. The motion of it makes her shoulders _tremble_ and she imagines blood welling up, running down her back. “You said I had a friend in Harlem and I could really use a friend right now.” Another breath. _Don’t cry_. “Unless you were talking about that detective. I wouldn’t mind giving her a call sometime…”

On any other night, it would’ve sounded like a joke. It was meant to be a joke. Or maybe that flirty and playful thing again. The way it was that first night at the bar when her fingers circled the wet rings left by her shot glasses.

Instead, she sounds broken. God, she’s so damn sick and tired of sounding broken. Of feeling broken. Tired of the way the world seems to be constantly shifting under her feet. She might as well be in that earthquake again.

It’s quiet for a moment on Luke’s end. Jessica hears the unmistakable soft clicking of a door closing and curses herself. He’s moved on, found a girlfriend. That nurse that helped Jessica escape Metro General; she was at the police station too. She’s nice. Jessica hopes he’s happy.

“You’re not Misty’s type,” he says finally, with a soft huff of a laugh. “She doesn’t have a lot of patience for bullshit.”

Maybe she should be offended. Instead she sinks forward with relief, pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her forehead against him. “Maybe that’d be good for me,” she answers. “I’m getting real tired of the bullshit myself. I could settle down with a nice girl, make a go out of the stable life.”

He’s laughing again, openly laughing at her. With her. It’s hard to tell. “I’m sure you could find plenty of nice girls out there to settle done with, Jones. But Misty Knight ain’t one of them. She’s a whirlwind.”

“Damn,” she sighs. “Still. It could be fun.”

Luke laughs softly. “I’ll give her your number. Can’t let it get around that I’m a bad wingman.” There’s some more noises on the other end of the line. Jessica goes quiet because this is _okay_. She could just listen to him breathe forever. Her fingers twitch against her knees. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Oh, you know. Same shit, different day. My competition’s trying to kill me.”

A beat. “I really hope you mean that metaphorically, Jones.”

“Sniper riffle, actually. Asshole was special forces or some shit.” She breathes out a soft laugh. It sounds more like a sigh, or maybe a sob. Jessica picks at a hole in her jeans. Then slides her legs down along the floor. If she stretches, she can almost place one foot against each door. Lock her demons in tight. “Fuck. There’s no way you believe that, right?”

“I know better than to doubt you.” There’s a brief pause. He sighs. “I _can_ call Misty, you know. Professionally speaking.”

“No.” She says it too fast. Tries to back pedal, “There’s just some shit going on. Too much shit. Avengers-level shit. I’d hate for her to get hurt dealing with all of my…” she trails of, closes her eyes and breathes against the onslaught of tears.

“Shit?” he finishes for her, softly. _Concerned_.

There’s a long pause. Silent tears fall down Jessica’s cheeks and she wipes at them angrily. Tries to force all this emotional fuckery back into place.

“Jones?” Luke asks. “You still there?”

“Yeah.” Her voices cracks painfully. Like her chest has been hollowed out. She pulls her legs back, crosses them on the floor. “Yeah, I’m still here.”

“You wanna meet someplace? We can talk.”

“No. It’s late.” She runs a hand through her hair. “I should let you get back to your girl. Claire, right?”

“Yeah. That’s her.”

“She seemed like a badass. Tell her I said hi or whatever it is normal people do.”

Another laugh but there’s no joy in it this time. “Whatever normal people do,” he agrees. An awkward silence. She’s not sure if she should just hang up. Then, “Jess?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re stronger than you think you are,” he tells her. The kind of thing people just say but it sounds so genuine coming from his lips. Addicts are always addicts. “And you’re not nearly as alone as you think you are.”

“Yeah.” It’s not an agreement. Not really. She runs a hand through her hair again. “I’ll call you later?”

“Later.” Firm. A promise.

Jessica hangs up.

**Author's Note:**

> Apropos of nothing in the fic, but I would like to point out that I hate Fall Out Boy's terrible and incorrect punctuation. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.


End file.
